The Tinker's Daughter by Josephine Angelini

Author:Josephine Angelini
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Homecooked Entertainment

17

I do not try to plead with the ruffians crammed into the back of the carriage with me. They seem stiff, as if their bodies and minds still do not belong to them. Yet, even if they could move of their own volition, I hold out no hope of convincing them to help me escape—not since witnessing what happened to Barth.

After what I believe to be another two hours of pushing the horses to their limit, we leave the forest and enter a clearing along the bank of a river. We pass through wooden spikes sticking out of the ground, demarcating a fortified encampment.

Inside the hastily laid defenses, there are about twenty tents each of them large enough to bunk ten men at least. Dotted between the tents are raised platforms, upon which six or seven men scan the skies.

Asphodel pulls the horses up and jumps down from the driver’s seat with the same acrobatic grace he exhibited on the roofs of the carriages. A knight wearing chainmail under a cloak approaches Asphodel and stands sharply at attention. On the shoulder of his cloak is a hydra crest.

“I bought some time with her dress. That may throw him off the trail.” Asphodel bites his lower lip in thought and looks at me through the carriage window. “But he’ll come,” he says. “Please escort Lady Jonara to my tent. And put those men in the stocks.”

“Yes, Lord Asphodel,” the knight replies, waving four more soldiers forward to assist him.

As Asphodel walks out of sight, Barth and the rest of the ruffians seem to be released from whatever paralytic hold Asphodel had over them. They startle and gain possession of their own limbs, just as the soldiers take hold of them and drag them from the carriage, kicking and screaming. The knight remains with me and waits for the commotion to die down before he addresses me.

“If you would be so kind as to quit the carriage, milady,” the knight says. His tone is solicitous, yet his hand is on the pommel of his broadsword.

“Sir--?” I inquire politely as I lay my hand on the mail of his proffered arm.

“Sir Lakely,” he replies.

“You know your name,” I say. I step down.

“Yes, milady,” Sir Lakely says. “A war cannot be fought by witless men. I know of what I speak. I used to serve our departed king and he left this land in shambles.”

We walk alongside each other, looking for all the world like we are amiable companions. “For some reason I’d thought, or maybe just hoped, that anyone who followed Asphodel did so because they had been ensorcelled in some way.”

Sir Lakely lets out a surprised laugh. “You are forthcoming with your opinions. I respect that, but you do this land a discredit if you discount Lord Asphodel.”

I turn to Sir Lakely, my expression openly astonished. “Please, do tell, after seeing that he has robbed town after town of their minds and souls, how else I should count Lord Asphodel?”

“He is the most brilliant leader I’ve ever known,” Sir Lakely replies without hesitation.

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